Ignorance of Affection
by ShhUrDead678
Summary: Sam and Dean are allowed the luxury of new shoes but things don't turn out well for them. Sam has an unexpected confrontation and finds himself in rather difficult circumstances. Ignorance isn't always bliss. Hurt!Sam15,Protective!Dean19 -contains abuse
1. Chapter 1

hello everyone, this is just a short one-shot ive been thinking about doing for a bit. it's a little different than im used to, but perhaps the concept of it is the same. hope you enjoy!!!

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Sam and Dean walked about the large, crowded halls aimlessly, looking at everything with wonder and something very akin to reverent worship. The windows were cluttered with merchandises varying from fur coats to little toy trains. Their father, God love and bless him for all eternity, allowed the brothers to go to the _mall_, the place often considered by John to be the main reason for human ignorance. You could drown yourself in all this paraphernalia and still have enough to choke on after death. That was far from what Dean was considering right then, though, they were on a mission. That mission? New shoes. Sam's were worse than Dean's by far, much worse, the soles of his converses worn and tearing all along the edges, several pieces already ripped off completely. Dean's were merely chafed at the tip and slightly grayed, but John was giving them a treat and, by God, he was going to take advantage of it.

They walked side-by-side to a sneaker store titled "Payless Shoe Source". Self-explanatory enough, right? Good thing, too, because, right then, Dean couldn't tell princess from goth in this unknown, somehow pleasant environment. Inside the walls were a creamy yellow, the ceiling and floors the same off-white with small specks of gray. The cashier appeared amiable enough if her dimpled smile was anything to go by, and the eager shoppers continued milling about blissfully for their dream shoes.

Dean turned to see Sam with a vibrant, fervent expression on his face, as if a small child finally allowed their first ride on a pony. Dean smiled as he watched Sam further enter the store. This was the life Sam always dreamt of, not necessarily becoming a dull employee at a shoe shop, but to live out and experience a normal life for once. Dean ached to allow the kid to go out and fulfill that neverending, boundless dream, but he knew just as well as Sam that John would have no inclination of giving up Sam's useful researching in a hunt.

Sam seemed to realize this the moment Dean did, and got out of his temporary trance to turn to him, now is ordinary, everyday self. "So, I guess we'll split up and meet back later? The store's not that big."

Dean nodded, knowing they'd probably find their personal preference of shoes in different isles. Sam enjoyed a good pair of comfortable converses while Dean was a big believer in the dark brown cowboy boots.

He pulled back his jacket sleeve, taking a glance at his watch. "Alright, well, I'll just come get you when I finish." Not that Dean would finish first, because he probably wouldn't. He was very picky about the shape and style of his boots and, oddly, Sam didn't really show much interest in shoes. He usually just got the navy blue or black converses and called it a day.

Sam nodded nonetheless, then walked over to the very left isle and began working in. That was what was weird with Sam. He needed everything perfect, moving in an orderly and systematic fashion, allowing no room for error in an instance where it really didn't matter otherwise. Dean smirked, shaking his head, then went to the isle smack in the middle to begin his mad search for boots.

It took him a good while to find a pair that looked even remotely similar to his style. He ended up at the very right isle in the front row and, if he had used Sam's system of order, would have found them in no time. Wistful, Dean grabbed a good-looking pair of dark boots, inspecting them for scratches. Seeing the price tag at the heel, he whistled. $60 was a hefty amount to throw down the drain, but John had allowed them a big free day, and Dean was going to treat it as such.

Now time to search for the size. Sam was usually only a size 10, the damn scrawny kid, but Dean usually went with 11 1/2, sometimes 12, depending on the brand.

As he continued his search, he heard quiet snickering coming from his left, where there was an entire section of nothing but empty space and small chairs to try shoes on. Dean turned, prepared to put some annoying bastard in his place if need be, but saw no one looking in his direction. There were two grown men, probably in their mid-thirties, smirking heinously on a small, gray bench, watching something out of Dean's view.

"Damn, that is some _nice_ ass," the taller, leaner of the two said, looking, staring, at something ahead of him.

Dean rolled his eyes, suddenly irritable. They were probably checking out some chick they planned to take home with them, consensual or not. That was not something Dean would allow. He put the boots he picked up in their proper place before heading out of the isle, walking toward the men. They continued whispering discreetly to themselves, but were otherwise unaware of his presence.

Out of the isle, he saw the subject to their fawning. His hands turned to tight fists in a second, his teeth grinding against each other with loud creaks. _Sam_. They were checking _his baby brother_? Oh, hell no.

Dean stood there at the edge of his isle, unsure, then moved cautiously to stand behind the two men, barely containing his nearly palpable rage. Presently, Sam was standing several yards in front of the men, on his tiptoes, reaching his hand up to grab one of the shoe boxes just out of reach. As his hand stretched further, his shirt rode up, the slightest inch of bare skin now visible. The men smothered a howl at the spectacle, as if hoping he'd keep going and strip provocatively out of his pants if he remained unaware of their presence.

The taller man leaned nearer to his stockier, shorter brown-haired friend, whispering quietly and secretively into his ear. Dean leaned forward, just barely catching his muted words.

"$100 bucks says I can get this boy naked and in bed by the end of the day," he said, smirking wildly with lust.

Dean's head felt like it was going to burst with irate fury. They planned to go so far as having _sex_ with his fifteen year old brother? Oh, _fuck_ no. He took two long strides in their direction, adrenaline-filled rage taking him every inch. He stopped abruptly then, surprising even himself and, for the first time in a long time, had a faintly, almost logical thought. How would the employees take it if he beat the shit out of and, very likely, killed two of their customers? Maybe he should wait, see what they did, then go in for the kill when the two were alone. He surprised himself with such a thought as waiting when it came to the protection of Sammy, but put the plan into motion anyway. However, if they so much as _think_ about touching him, he'd kill them right there in the open, innocent bystanders around or not. This was his baby brother they were planning to fuck, and that, _that_, was something Dean wouldn't allow.

The man smiled in response with a look kindred to covetous desire, as if filled with the sudden appetite for poor, defenseless boys. He shook the taller man's stretched hand heartily, ready for a show.

But Sam wasn't defenseless-- no, they just thought he was. The only weakness Sam had was his naivete and unfortunately, the very thing that could get him killed or worse by a couple of sick men like these. Sam was unaware of the appeal people saw in him, his cute dimples and soft eyes just another part of his face, and if someone came up and randomly struck up a conversation with him he'd think it was because they were being friendly, not because they wanted to make out.

The men continued to talk quietly to themselves, the shorter one eying Sam before looking back at his friend. "You know, we could sell this kid and get some serious dough, let 'em borrow him a few hours."

The taller one kept his gaze on Sam, his stare cold and, somehow, still with conspicuous avidity. "I don't care if you want random men fucking him on a daily basis, but I'm the first to take him."

Dean clenched his hands tighter, and already he felt the blood spill from his hands, dribbling in between his fingers and down his wrists. _Excuse me?_ What _did you just say?_

The man stood and walked toward Sam, and Dean made an instinctive step forward, but stopped himself, holding his breath then exhaling loudly through his nostrils. _Wait it out, Dean. Just see what happens._

Dean realized now that he hated waiting. He never planned on doing this again. _Ever._

The tall man stepped up behind the exasperated Sam, his hands relaxed on his hips, and tapped Sam's bony shoulder. He jumped and turned around, seeming surprised to see the unfamiliar man. Dean continued to watch as the man, probably introducing himself, held a hand out for Sam to take with a confident, sure smile. Sam took it, nodding his head, probably telling the man his current, fake name. The man then moved toward the shelf, barely lifting his hand to grab the box Sam had been reaching for moments ago. He brought it back down and handed it to Sam gingerly, feigning politeness.

Dean continued to sear with unadulterated animosity, barely holding himself back as he imagined himself burning this guy on a skillet, the flames jumping at him and scorching his flesh until it reached inevitable bone. He managed to stay at his discreet spot in the back, though, barely. He'd allow this to play out as long as the man didn't touch Sam in a way he's against. Until then, he'll sit back and watch the horror show.

Still feeling petulant as he crept into hearing range, he thought to himself, _too bad I forgot the popcorn._

Roy gave the teen both a shoebox of converses and bright, hopefully seductive smile, fighting the urge to lick his lips while doing so. He had been practicing that same smile for weeks for a moment like this, and he hoped it wouldn't fail him now.

The boy seemed unaffected though, smiling back in nothing more than a friendly manner as he opened up the box and sat at one of the small benches. Roy watched as he bent over to untie his currently dilapidated shoes, pushing them off his feet to replace them with the new, black converses he picked off the shelf. He further admired the boy's figure as he worked them on, noting the clear, smooth skin, silky brown hair, beautiful blue eyes, and, yes, absolutely _perfect_ ass. He felt himself melting from the boy's figure, and he was still fucking _clothed_. He wanted so badly to rip off those second-rate clothes, strip him bare, and lay him on the bed to make fierce love to him. He'd wait, though, he was more than patient enough to quell his voracious thoughts just long enough to win the boy over.

Sam Turner was slipping on the second shoe when Roy thought to speak again, fully recuperated from his momentary lapse. "So, you from here? I think I'd remember someone like you."

Sam rose an eyebrow, confused, but smiled anyway. "No, just moved here recently, about a week ago, I think."

Roy nodded absently, unsure. Why did the boy not react to his flirting, as if he didn't even know what it was? Did he not understand the common methods of seduction, or was he trying to act like he didn't see what was right in front of him? He'd keep trying nonetheless, this was a catch he couldn't let pass that easily. Besides, if he didn't fuck this hottie by the end of the day he'd owe Joshua $100, and that sure as hell wasn't happening.

He scooted his ass a little closer to Sam's, nearly drooling at the proximity, and watched Sam finish tying his shoe. He moved his feet around, testing out the fit. Roy smiled alluringly, "Feel good?"

Sam turned to Roy, his mouth a grim line. "I don't know. They feel a little big." He stood, walking around in them a little. "Yeah, I think a 9 1/2 would be better.

Roy nodded, not giving up. He went back to the shelf in search for the kid's size. "Alright, let's see...". Ah-ha, something was finally going right today. "Found one. It's a bit high though, I can't reach it." He acted out the effort of reaching for the box, but allowed himself to fall short of the goal.

Sam shrugged, looking around. "That's okay. I'm sure we can someone who works here that can help us."

As the kid made for an escape, Roy grabbed his hand and pushed him in his direction, their chests nearly touching. Roy basked in the proximity. "Come on, what's the fun in that?"

Without waiting for a response, he hoisted the boy up, his hands holding onto Sam's waist tightly. Roy could feel his hip bones jutting out under his strong hands, and absently wondered if the kid actually _ate._

Sam's bewilderment was quite nearly tangible as he kept him hoisted in the air. "Go on, kid, grab it."

Out of his trance, Sam plucked out the 9 1/2 size box before being placed carefully back on the ground. "Uhh, thanks."

Sam's back to him, Roy swiftly pushed him into the shelf and pressed up against him greedily, no longer capable of holding back his suddenly avaricious affections. He placed his mouth near the boy's ear before greedily licking it, his tongue swirling in a pattern down his ear to the lobe. "You and me, boy, we could make a real team, you know." His hand trailed the boy's body meticulously, memorizing every curve, the wondrous contours of his thin, muscular stomach, making it's way to that nice, smoking hot ass. Roy nearly fainted from it's marvelously carved perfection. _Fuck me._

As he was still fantasizing, a hand abruptly grabbed onto the back of Roy's collar, yanking him backward and tumbling him into the bench, his face having a not too graceful confrontation with the floor. He cursed, the back of his head throbbing with pain, thumping against his brain in sync with his racing heart. He spun around, fully pissed for the interruption, his eyes landing on a young man standing behind him, his arms folded over his chest firmly, as if making sure not to do something he'd regret. Roy wondered distantly what that might be, what boundaries he had set for himself, because, apparently, walking over and punching him hard in the face didn't seem to be one of them.

A groan escaped Roy, a thick, viscous liquid dripping annoyingly out his nose and onto his lips, and he wondered how fucking fast his luck could change. Everything had been going so well, then this asshole comes and fucks it all up. _The damn bastard. He was supposed to be _mine_._ He looked at the man angrily, thinking the guy probably wanted Sam Turner all for himself._ Damn bastard. Fuck._

Joshua finally came to the rescue, the fucker, but, before he could rear back and land a solid hit on the man, he spun around and kicked him hard in the gut. Joshua coughed up blood_, _drops of red spewing from his mouth as he fell to the floor, clutching his stomach.

"Shit," he moaned, turning to Roy accusingly, as if telling him, _this is all your fucking fault._ Roy hardly agreed but, then, he wasn't in a situation where he could call Joshua out on that, now was he?

But Roy wasn't giving up, fuck no, not without a fight. He turned to the anonymous man, spitting on his worn boot as he stood. "What, you think I'm going to let some punk-ass bitch like you take what's already mine? Fuck no, he belongs to _me_," he said fiercely, jabbing his chest with his thumb to further emphasize exactly who was owning who.

That seemed to make up the man's decision, because he hurled another dangerously precise and equally fierce punch right in his jaw, as if shoving all his resentment and hatred toward Roy into that one, single punch, the bone audibly cracking from the force. He stumbled back, hitting his head on the shelf sharply, sending several boxes tumbling onto his defenseless figure. He grunted, more out of pain than bravery. _Damn this man, damn him to hell._ It was all this bastard's fault, and Roy didn't have the strength or capability of standing to take charge once more and take back what was his. He turned his head, his eyes indignant to see Sam Turner now standing beside the older man. And, what surprised him still, the boy was still _clothed. _This boy had the _audacity_ to keep his clothes intact while still in the presence of the great Roy Thomas? Not even shedding a single piece of apparel? He was used to men throwing themselves at him lustfully, tearing off both his and Roy's clothing in mere seconds, but this kid didn't seem interested at all. He looked angry, confused, betrayed. His big, soulful baby blues shone with something that made him almost feel bad for deceiving him. Almost.

The man stepped forward to the fallen Roy, his eyes ignited with a frenzied wrath that made even Roy appear sane. He crouched in front of him, his mouth barely twitching into a ferocious, tempestuous smile. "That kid over there," he said, knocking his head back in Sam's direction, "he don't belong to you, you or anybody else. So I strongly suggest you keep your filthy, repulsive hands off him or, so help me God, I will hunt you, and I will kill you." The last words were said with such a serious, cold glare that Roy wondered if the man would do just kill him on the spot.

Then the man lifted his fist again, a third time, and slammed it home. Roy fell back with a thud, his eyes slowing sliding shut as he lost consciousness.

They drove back home in silence, the absence of the usual loud, headbanging music he enjoyed listening and often singing to a sign of just how troubled he was. Dean sighed for, possibly, the tenth time, and Sam merely twitched in response, probably wracking up in his geeky brain just how much trouble he was in. Sam hadn't said anything after Dean had knocked that bastard and his friend out, just leaving with Dean sulkily out of the store and into the Impala.

Finally, the silence no longer even faintly bearable, he swerved into the furthest lane and parked abruptly into an anonymous parking lot, not bothering to see which store he needed to thank for the convenient parking space. He turned to Sam, who was currently looking down at an inch hole in his pants, the small gap in his thigh frayed around the edges. Speaking of frayed, it hadn't even occurred to Dean that they hadn't gotten any shoes until now.

Whatever. That could wait.

"Sammy-," Dean started.

"I know, Dean, I screwed up," Sam interrupted instantly, sighing loudly in self-condemnation as he threw his hands up, exasperated.

"Now, come on, Sammy, I wasn't going to say that," he said patiently, allowing a small, hopefully pleasant smile to grace his face.

Sam waited, his hands crossed over his chest and just barely allowing his hair to fall into his face, covering his eyes and, most importantly, a free pass to his mind and thoughts. Dean sighed quietly, darting his gaze to the dashboard before locking them with Sam's hair-covered eyes. "Listen, Sammy, I first want to tell you this isn't your fault."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean held up a finger. "Let me finish. _However.._.". Dean rubbed a hand across his face, suddenly unsure how to proceed. "What you don't realize, Sammy, is that you're... _attractive_. People like the look of your face, and you can't tell the difference between flirtatious people and people merely trying to be friendly. The problem with you is, if they try to get in your pants, you can't tell because you don't know they _want_ to get in your pants."

Sam watched him, his eyes slightly wide with his mouth a grim line. Some of the hair had fallen out of his eyes, and Dean could see the disbelief and doubt in his eyes. _How can I get this through to him?_

"Okay, here." Dean pulled the visor out on Sam's side of the car and opened the flap on the mirror. "What do you see?"

Sam looked at it, annoyed. "Well, let's see...I'm going to start with my face," he said sarcastically.

Dean rolled his eyes impatiently. "Be serious."

Sam looked at him incredulously, his eyebrows a sharp "v" while his lips the shape of a small "o". "How can I be serious about this, Dean? You're trying to convince me, may I remind you your _brother_, that I'm _attractive_. This is stupid, and ridiculous, and I'm ready to go home."

"Well that sucks for someone, doesn't it?" Dean said seriously. "Because we're not going anywhere until you understand the dangers outside our little bubble, and I will _not_ allow that incident in the mall to replay itself in the future. You _will_ be ready."

Sam sobered up, his blue eyes softening. He adjusted his arms until they just lay loosely on his legs, his finger going back to playing lightly with the frayed hole in his jeans. "I know you just want to help, but I know better now, Dean, really," he shrugged, possibly trying to lighten the mood, "I'll be okay, seriously. It's all good, man."

Dean pursed his lips. Because Sam had pulled his hair back into his eyes the instant he started talking told him all he wanted to know. Sam was just telling him what he thought Dean wanted to hear. "Sammy, let me ask you something. When we were both still in high school, did you know people would come up to me in the hallways and ask me if you were single? Do you know how many times a _week_ I had to answer that damn question over and over and _over_? It was ridiculous."

Sam's eyebrows arched further up his forehead, no longer visible through his hair as he turned to Dean in surprise. "W-What?" he stuttered, "Really?"

Dean nodded, hoping that would help bring home to his little brother what he was trying to tell him.

Sam scratched his head awkwardly, his eyes still slightly wide with astonishment as he looked out the window, purposely turning away from Dean's burning gaze. "Oh, wow, umm, I didn't know that. You know, uhh, you probably just should have to told them to stop," he said, his cheeks tinted pink.

Dean kept his gaze on Sam's demeanor. "I did, lil bro, but saying "stop" to one doesn't automatically say "stop" to the rest of the horde." Dean's description made Sam's cheeks a brighter red and Dean continued, dynamic. "And then, my senior year, in Cedar Valley, Oklahoma, I think, there were these group of girls huddled together day after day, talking about you constantly-- or from what I had seen-- then swooning and nearly fainting every time you passed. Eventually I came up to them and nicely told them you weren't interested because they were seriously bordering on clinically insane."

Sam spun his head to him, almost artificial disbelief etched in his features, as if he_ really_ didn't want to believe Dean but was slowly starting to wonder, beginning to question it. Good.

Sam's eye twitched erratically. "Oh, come on, _yeah right._" He bit his lip, then, and Dean watched him mull it over, fighting the urge to smile. Sam's gaze turned to Dean before swiftly looking at the dashboard, then looked back to Dean again, more slowly. "Did they really do that?"

Dean smiled widely then. So he understood now. It wasn't perfect, but if Sam was more self-aware then, maybe, it'd be a little easier for him to point out the pedophiles and rapists in the future._ But hopefully they wouldn't have to deal with _that_ anymore._

But if they did. Hell, Dean would be more than ready to kick some more ass for his baby brother.

Dean patted his back happily. "They sure as hell did, Sammy." He sighed, content, though his mind was still partially lingering on the confrontation between that sick man and Sam. He still seethed merely thinking about it, that someone would try something on _his_ baby brother, but he tried to think happy thoughts.

A genuine smile came about effortless as he turned to Sam again. "Ready to go home?"

Sam nodded ecstatically, his cheeks still a light pink. "Hell yeah."

Dean laughed, kicking his Impala into gear before driving her off into the beaming sunlight with Sammy by his side, the sweet breeze pouring softly through the cracked window a very surreal moment as the birds fluttered about, chirping beautiful and harmonic tunes of peace and eternal joy.

Paradise had to be somewhere, right?

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Alright, hope you enjoyed the one-shot!!!!! Let me know what you think if its worth reviewing!


	2. Chapter 2

Alright, a lot of people asked for another update so, at long last, here it is! unfortunately, the entire thing ended up deleting itself at one point and i had kind of put it on delay AGAIN. the original, i think, was so much better, but hopefully this turned out okay as well. its slightly disheartening, but life goes on, right? :)

hope it turned out okay! Oh, also, it only gets darker from here, so fair warning! Sam's not out of this yet!

enjoy!

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Dean parked the Impala on the far side of the parking lot, even now being sure to keep his precious baby free of potentially dangerous hunks of metal and flashy paintjobs that _weren't_ his baby's. He slipped out of his black behemoth, sensing Sam trudging along behind him as he manuevered toward the motel room. He glanced back anyway, just be sure, and saw the kid with his head down and dark hair in his eyes, probably hiding the constant pink tinge still formed on his cheeks. Dean smiled at the thought. His poor baby brother had to grow witness to his super hotness. Dean blushed at his own crude thoughts. _Wow, aren't you mature? _He inwardly shrugged. He was the big brother, he could think whatever he wanted.

He walked up to their current motel room and rattled his hand around in his jacket pocket until he found the key. Placing it in the keyhole, he unlocked it and held an arm out for Sam, allowing him first entrance. Sam did so grudgingly, keeping his head down as he walked into the small living space. Dean came in and locked it behind them, suddenly and abruptly lost in thought. _What was he going to tell Dad?_

Dean sighed lightly, watching Sam shrug off his jacket and throw it onto the bed they both shared before sitting down. John sat at the small table in the corner of the room, finally looking up from his journal and newspaper clippings to see the two in the room. After a cursory glance, he took to eyeing Sam more curiously, his eyes fully covered and shoulders hunched over. He looked to Dean questioningly, who watched him tightly in turn. John rose an eyebrow and searched them both for injuries.

Finding none, he couldn't help but also notice his boys had the same, dirtied shoes on they had yesterday. Confused, he asked casually, "So, how was the shopping spree? Find anything good?".

Sam cringed lightly, but otherwise reacted expressionlessly, not that you could actually _see _his expression, it was just assumed.

John's eyes narrowed. Taking one final glance at Dean, who looked like he was considering how to begin, John ordered, "Sam."

Sam's head flew up instantly, searching out his father's eyes. "Yes, sir."

"What happened?".

Sam's mouth moved wordlessly, unsure. "Uhh..". John couldn't help but note the boy's bright red cheeks. Was it from exertion, or embarassment? The mere thought puzzled John.

He was about to ask again when Dean spoke. "Well, we just had a uhh, small run-in with some guys at the mall. Nothing we couldn't handle," he said purposely vague, knowing his father would continue the interrogation for him. _How do I start this?_

John's eyebrows flew downward. He stood suddenly, looking from one brother to another. He went up to Sam and half-kneeled in front of him, beginning to peel off his long-sleeve shirt. "What? What happened? Are you hurt?". It was an odd way for him to go about discovering his son's possibly sustained injuries but, at that moment, he wasn't quite worried about the potential awkwardness they would have to endure afterward. His sons' weren't telling him what he needed to know, so he'd find out for himself.

Before Sam could protest, the man had pulled it up to uncover his toned lower torso, a long dark bruise beginning to reveal itself. John looked at it furiously, his head calculating all the possible ways it could have gotten there. It was long, too long, running horizontally along Sam's stomach. At the center of the bruise was a thin red line, small drops of blood dripping down his torso. He looked to Dean with barely contained rage, searching for an explanation. Dean looked just as confused, staring at the dark line menacingly. Realization seemed to come to him swiftly, and he turned away, eyes closed and hands tight in a fist.

John noticed this, as he noticed everything, and turned to Sam, who merely sat there, still and burdened. "What happened?" As if unaware of the question, Dean sat and put his head in his hands. "Damn it, what the hell happened?" John asked again in a rage.

Dean looked up to his father, as if just realizing his existence, and put his hands in front of him innocently. "It's okay, Dad, nothing...happened. Just...let me explain."

John's eyes twitched, as if he hadn't been asking for that the _entire_ time, and let Sam's shirt fall. Watching them calmly, he went and sat on the bed opposite them. "Alright."

Dean momentarily searched out Sam's eyes, wondering what he would want him to say, but they stayed down, focused solely on the dirtied, moldly carpet. "Okay, um...". Dean sighed, "This guy, uh, at the mall...well, he kinda...tried something...on Sam." He took a peak at John's expression. Not happy, not happy at all. Shit. He gulped, looking down as Sam was, his eyes focusing on a particularly large clump of dust. "He shoved Sammy into the shelf." Dean suddenly shivered, filled with a wrathful vengeance he hadn't felt since mom died. "Touched him," he spat, remembering how the man's hands had roamed his baby brother's body as if it had _belonged_ to him. Dean grit his teeth.

Sam twitched, looking up for the first time. "My fault." John eyed him almost sadly, and Sam looked back down before the man could say anything incriminating. "I'm sorry, I didn't...I didn't _mean_ to. I was being stupid, wasn't watching for the signs." Sam put his hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Dean watched as Sam seemed to shrink further into himself, and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder. "No, Sammy, it wasn't your fault, okay? Those perverts are the ones that should be punished, _they _are the ones at fault here, not you. Never you," he added, shaking his head sadly.

John looked to Dean suddenly, angrily. "There was more than one?"

Dean nodded, still watching Sam, his insides boiling in pain. Pain because _Sam_ was in pain. He thought he had helped Sam through this, convinced him that he wasn't to blame in the car. Now he realized it was only what he wanted to see, because Sam was far from okay. Who could he trust now, now that he knew the nice, jovial strangers that came and talked to him could possibly have some darker, inner motives? Would he learn to trust people again, or would he be scarred forever? He cried out for his baby brother. This wasn't fair, not at all. His brother...his brother was the purest, sweetest kid out there. He had never seen one soul that was as selfless as the kid sitting beside him, and he was the luckiest man in the world to have him as a brother. Why did it have to happen to him, of all people? But he'd make it better, Dean promised himself. Sam would learn from this, and no person would ever take advantage of him again.

John repeated his question. "Damn it, Dean, how many were there?"

Dean looked to his dad. "Two, only two."

John nodded. "Okay, now tell me what happened. _Exactly_ how it happened."

Dean sighed, turning to Sam who, surprisingly, softly nodded his approval. Dean nodded, knowing Sam didn't see it, and began relaying the day. However, after he told John about the two of them splitting into different isles, he stopped suddenly. He squinted as if in pain, looking toward the door. He didn't want to talk about this, maybe he could leave, grab the Impala and just _go_. But what if this only hurt Sammy more? He didn't actually know _all _of the story. Should he? He sighed loudly and, from the corner of his eye, saw Sam watching him, uncertain. "I...I was, you know, looking for my, my boots and these two guys, uh..." Dean felt his voice crack, and he knew he had to stop for a second. John just continued to watch, his legs crossed and shoulders straight. He didn't even look to see how Sam was fairing, he couldn't take that right now. "They were snickering and I, I thought they were watching some hot chick go by. I went to look and...," Dean licked his lips, "they were looking at my baby brother."

A tear fell from his eye, and he swiped at it furiously. Nothing _happened_, goddamn it. "They were making bets on who could, who could _fuck_ him." Sam twitched violently beside him and Dean stopped. Why had he said it like that? Dean twisted his hands together angrily. Damn it, he was messing up _everthing_ today. He took another deep breath and, eyes glued to the floor, continued. "They...oh _god_, they were...they...". Dean put a hand over his face, tears falling unheedlingly down his face now. Why was it so much harder to _say_ it? "They were planning to sell him. Oh god, oh _fuck_." He cried out, heavy tears flowing down his cheeks. "They were going to have people _pay_ to fuck my brother, goddamn it," he yelled before standing suddenly, flinging himself into the bathroom. He barely made it to the toliet before heaving out today's lunch, gasping violently as it all flowed from him, leaving him empty. He couldn't do this, he couldn't. Why was this so painful? Sam is safe and completely out of harm's way now. Dean had been there. Nothing_ happened_.

But what if it happens again? Dean can't be with Sammy all the time, can he? Was it possible?

"Oh god," he said to no one in particular. His eyes felt puffy and his vision blurry. He felt his family's presence behind him, his only family, and it reassured him slightly. They'd get through this. Dean dry heaved once more into the toliet before pulling away, his hands resting by his sides instead of tensed against the toliet seat. He sighed loudly as tears were wiped from his eyes. But they weren't his hands that were wiping at his cheeks, and he looked curiously behind him to see Sam there, kneeling beside him, a sad smile on his face. Small tears traveling lightly down his face, but he seemed unaware of them, focused solely on his big brother. Dean's chest ached.

"Come on, we need to get you up, Dean," John said from somewhere behind Dean, sounding suspiciously tearful. Dean nodded, ignoring it, and placed his hands on the toliet seat and pushed up, allowing it to take most of his weight. His back popped as he straightened into a standing position. How long had he been there?

He sniffled. Another tear began to snake it's way out of Dean's eye, and he fisted his palm into his eye. He was _not_ going to cry. Not again.

He turned to his baby brother, the most important person in his life, the person he would give his life for over and over just to see happy. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. I had seen them but I, I didn't...I wasn't fast enough. I'm so sorry."

Sam shook his head. He put his arms lightly over Dean's shoulders, bringing him in. Dean immediately complied, wrapping his arms around Sam's bony waist, allowing his hands to rest in between his shoulder blades. Sam said, "No, Dean, you can't blame yourself for this. You didn't do anything."

Dean snorted. "That's exactly it, Sammy, I didn't _do_ anything. I just...I just stood there, watching them talk about what they'd do to you...how they'd degrade you." Dean squeezed Sam tighter. How did he let this happen? His baby Sammy, one of the two most amazing men he'd ever known and the most amazing brother he could ever have, and_ this _happens to him? What if it happened again? What if, next time, Dean wasn't there to save him? Dean audibly inhaled loudly at the mere _thought _of what would happen, shutting his eyes at the assaulting visuals, and Sam, as if reading his thoughts, began to rub Dean's back slowly, soothingly.

But they weren't going to worry about the future, Dean decided. Because, right now, Dean had the best, most important person in the world right here, safe in his arms, and, to top it off, the recently assaulted kid was trying to reassure _him_ that everything would be all right.

If that wasn't true strength then Dean sure as hell wasn't expecting it from anyone else, because Sam was the strongest one out there.

Sam was going to heal from this, like he healed from everything, and they'd be okay again. There is no "if", because there's only ever been a "when". Dean wanted to cry out in joy and, this time, he sighed with nothing but relief. They were going to get over this.

Dean snuggled his nose into Sam's chocolate locks. "Everything's gonna be okay, Sammy".

Sam wrapped his arms further around Dean until they rested tightly against the nape of his neck. "And I thought I was the optimistic one." Dean could hear the small smile in Sam's voice.

Dean squeezed Sam tightly to his chest for a long time, wrapped in his own paradise and, unannounced to him, Sam had stopped rubbing his back. Dean smiled again, his happy inner thoughts affecting his outer actions, and another tight squeeze crushed Sam's stomach. He let out a small, unintentional squeak.

Dean immediately pulled back, sensing something amiss, and looked at Sam in horror, realization hitting him in the face. "Oh my God, Sammy, I'm so sorry."

Sam shook his head, hands held up innocently. "No, I'm fine. It barely hurts, rea-", and then Dean was grabbed his thin wrist, dragging him out of the bathroom and into their small living space.

"Sit," Dean ordered and Sam, reacting on auto-pilot at the terse order, complied. Dean went into his father's duffel bag, bustling around until he found the first-aid kit. "Take off your shirt." He listened as cloth fell to dirtied sheets, and soon after came back and sat beside Sam, ointment in hand. He barely noticed John sitting wide-eyed, wordless on the opposite bed.

Dean immediately looked to Sam's torso in badly concealed rage, not even attempting to hide his hatred for mankind. He inwardly noticed Sam following Dean's gaze, gulping when he saw what he saw. Hadn't Dean already seen the evidence of his assault before?

Now going across Sam's torso, were _two_ angry-looking bruises, more evidence of Sam's harsh assault. Both held small red lines in the center, one on his lower torso and the other on his chest, near his armpits, all from the shelves he had been rammed against. Dean looked up, watching Sam close his eyes at some unknown thought.

Dean placed his hand on Sam's cheek, hoping to relieve him of that nightmare. "It's okay, Sammy, you're safe now."

Sam opened his eyes, a small smile lighting his features. "Yeah, I know."

Dean smiled in return and began the procedure of looking to Sam's injuries, trying damn hard to show indifference to the marks of abuse. He tried to act as if he were the doctor, working on a random, minor patient that never outwardly affected his life and he never thought five seconds more of after the recovery was complete.

He knew it was a lie though as he applied ointment to Sam's damaged body. Sam's pain affected him more than he wanted to admit, and he knew it would take him a long time to just get over this.

After applying the necessary ointment and bandages, he allowed Sam to slip his long-sleeved shirt back on, his muscles rolling as he let it drop over his shoulders. Dean looked away. Of course Sam was muscular, he was a Winchester. It was just one more piece of evidence of the life Sam had been brought into. But what use was that strength when you didn't know what to use it for? Sure, ghosts and wendigos and werewolves were all obvious examples of what Sam knew to defeat, but what about things more obscure, less obvious? How would Sam know when to use his fist against a _human_? Could he distinguish between friendly and pedophile?

Dean scrubbed a hand over his mouth. This wasn't over yet, not by a longshot. He'd let Sam have his much needed rest then, tomorrow, he'd teach him. Teach him of the dangers and possible threats any human could pose. He didn't care if it'd be chick-flicky, or awkward, or any of that shit. This was Sammy he was talking about, and nothing, _nothing_, was going to happen to him, not ever again.

The hunt would be put on hold for now. He'd make sure of it.

The lights were turned off, and Sam slid under the sheets, looking exhausted even in the dark. He groaned, realizing he hadn't changed into something more comfortable, or at least taken off his jeans. He sighed in annoyance as he pulled off his jeans, and Dean's eye twitched in amusement. _Poor little Sammy, you think _that_ is depressing. Wait until morning. Predator Awareness 101._

Dean watched Sam throw his jeans across the room, unaware of what was to come. Dean slid into the bed beside Sam with a smile and threw an arm around the kid's waist, pulling him forward. Sam allowed it, barely, and rested his head lightly on Dean's shoulder, not sure what else to do. Dean played with a few strands of Sam's long hair. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Dean said quietly into the darkness, "Sleep well, Sammy."

He was already asleep.

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Alright, well, there it was! That's all I plan to do for this fanfic, but if you really want a continuation, throw in an idea and I'll get to work on it. I know it took me a while to get this up, but I'll try to get any future updates up sooner. Gosh, I DO keep saying that, don't I? I'm so neglectful.

Hope you liked! Review if you feel the chapter to be worthy or if it could use some serious critique. I accept either or anything in between!


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, here's another chapter. ****I notice I had a few differing ideas of where the story should go, so I hope I was able to appease all sides. If not, let me know so I may somehow correct it in the next chapter. I hope it's acceptable to you all. I'm feeling a bit of the writer's block, so hopefully any lack of creativity or small issues of incompetence aren't too obvious in my writing. And my _goodness_, this chapter was hard to write.**

**Warnings: dark, fairly graphic. **

**Enjoy!**

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**1 week later**

Sam gathered up his books from his desk, placing them-one by-one into his tattered backpack before slinging it onto his shoulder. It was the last period of the day, Honors English, and he couldn't help but feel a bit eager. John had found a hunt in a small town in Ohio and, while Sam hating moving, despised that he couldn't lead a normal life like everyone else, he couldn't help but feel grateful to move on from this disastrous period of his life. There was _still _a pink tinge on his cheeks from when Dean gave him "the talk"-consisting fully of a red-faced Sam and smirking Dean- and Sam wanted to leave this town, badly, as if he could leave Dean's words behind him, too.

Sam ducked his head subconsciously, hoping no one noticed as he walked down the crowded hallway. This was not something he wanted to think about now, especially not in such a vulnerable place where people could freely ridicule him. After his long, painfully embarassing conversations with his brother, he oddly understood what his brother was talking about now. Standing by the front door in the foyer was a group of three girls, whispering furiously to each other before throwing furtive glances his way, their cheeks almost as red as Sam's had been not so long ago. He ducked his head further, his hair falling safely into his eyes like a curtain and, unintentionally began thinking of the days of late where he had to deal with this.

_Dean sat Sam in his lap, petting his long chocolate locks mockingly. Sam pushed his hand away, only to have to push it away again when it came back to his head. He scrambled to get off the bed, but Dean held him in strong arms, and there was no hope for escape. Sam pouted, crossing his arms over his chest._

_"Dean, I think you're beginning to take this a bit too far for your own good. As a matter of fact, too far for _my_ own good as well." Sam tested the waters again, attempting escape to no avail. "This is just immature."_

_Dean laughed. "Oh, come on Sammy, don't be like that. You know you _like _it."_

_Sam rolled his eyes as Dean wrapped his arms tighter around Sam's stomach, being sure to avoid the bruises._

_Dean cleared his throat with sophistication, as if preparing for a lecture. "Now Sammy, the first step to Predator Awareness 101 is perfectly understanding the environment and situations around you. Not all predators are male, despite your previous encounter, so don't specifically look for predators based solely on gender. Look for groups of people, maybe even one going solo but, in the end, they all look the same. And that, little Sammy, is evil." Sam felt Dean shake his head against the back of his hair. "Not evil as in fangs or vicious claws or outrageously large bodies covered in fur, but more subtle. Those, my dear baby brother, are your ignorance sprouts from." Dean added with a smile, "But don't worry, I'll purge you of this blissful ignorance soon enough." Sam grabbed at the hand wrapped tightly but safely around his ribs and attempted to disattach it. It didn't work. "That's not bad, Sammy. If anyone tries to get the drop on you, fight. Always fight. Of course, I can't exactly say I'm the predator here but, hey, at least you're trying to get the hang of it."_

_Sam rolled his eyes, dropping his head against Dean's shoulder. There was just no point in fighting it. "Dean, you're so impossible."_

That was one of the lesser embarassing moments for sure, and Sam was to remove himself from his thoughts before they continued in a less-than-acceptably graphic direction.

Sam turned and walked toward the front door, deciding to do one of the few things he was good at.

Escape.

Trying hard to ignore the group of girls, Sam pushed open the door to freedom. It was good weather, the wind cool against his skin and the sun glistening from above the clouds, giving everything in it's path a brighter, cheerier aspect. Sam's lips twitched into a smile. It was days like these that he wished he could live a normal life, where he didn't have to worry about training and endurance running all the time. He wanted to just be able to stare at the sky for hours and not worry about having his head eaten off by a wendigo.

It wasn't fair, not really, but Sam would deal. He walked in the direction of their current home, soon passing the school limits and reaching the street. He had been able to persuade Dean into letting him walk to the motel room today, and he was going to take advantage of the newfound independence.

After several minutes of travel, thoughts occupied and hands shoved deep in his baggy jeans, Sam was passing through a suddenly poor, deserted area, the walls dirtied and vandalized, the buildings' windows smashed and shattered on the barely paved ground. To his right was a dark alleyway, the shadows hailing deep within the mold-infested walls and, from within, was a loud, eerie snickering, echoing loudly off the black walls into Sam's ears. Sam stopped dead in his tracks, his hand crawling instantly behind his back for the knife he hid under his hoodie. It was a strong reassurance, feeling the cool metal pressed flat against the small of his back. He slid it out as he neared the alleyway, eyes searching endlessly inside the unyielding black.

His vision had almost become accustomed to the darkness when a small light erupted within the alley, revealing two men standing before him, tall, muscular, and more than deadly. Sam gulped, sliding his knife from his jenas in one swift motion. The men_ looked _unarmed but their fists, in and of themselves, were just as much of a weapon as any knife, the knuckles protruding and the veins running deep along their toned arms.

Sam took a step back, instead preparing to flee, when his back bumped into something hard. He turned around swiftly, his knife drawn and held in a fighting stance. There were two more men behind him, just as menacing and huge as the other two. Sam backed up a step, subconsciously realizing he was surrounded. The two men stepped forward more and more until he was completely cornered, the four men standing around him offensively, all smirking.

Sam's heart was beating erratically, pounding against his chest so hard he nearly considered covering it, just in case it broke through his flesh and fled. Hell, Sam wouldn't even blame the damn thing if it did.

Another man, taller but slightly leaner than the others, came from behind him, hair jet black and cheek bruised a brownish-yellow. The same hue was surrounding his eye, fully engulfing.

A whimper almost escaped Sam's lips. This man, this hideous parody of a human, was the guy from the mall, the guy that...Sam shut his eyes tight for a moment, eyes bleary. How could this possibly end?

The man from the mall took a step forward, his mouth curled into a wicked smile. "I don't believe we've been formerly introduced. My name is Roy Thomas." His smile grew. "And you, Sam Turner, belong to me."

Sam took a step back, now only a foot from the wall, his mind rapidly calculating his situation, just as had Dean taught him. What he didn't understand was how this Roy had known he would be here. It was obviously planned. All five men looked prepared and more than capable of restraint, and Sam was neither. He was completely trapped, and had no way of defending himself except for a small four inch, suddenly useless knife.

Roy stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of Sam, having to lean down slightly to look him fully in his bright, beautiful eyes. Roy's smirk widened as he caught a glimpse of Sam's spilling emotions. Sam looked down, knife hanging limply in his fingers, as if forgotten, and Roy placed a finger under Sam's chin, pointing it up. He wanted to see Sam's eyes, _needed_ to. He smiled. "We're going to have so much fun Sammy." Sam flinched, quiet and still, then suddenly swung out with the knife, the sharp point grazing harshly across Roy's cheek. The man screamed, probably more out of surprise than pain, his hand holding onto the gushing wound as Sam attempted his escape. The four men were already closing further in on him, and Sam thought of just weaving around them. He knew it'd never work, and he brought his knife up for another swipe. He went for the guy nearest him, his knife cutting into the man's chest before going again into his arm. Sam pulled out as the man did nothing more than gasp sharply. Of course it wouldn't hurt him that much, the four men were like damn_ bulldozers_.

It took more of a literal meaning when one of them rushing into Sam's back, throwing him off his feet violently as he crashed into the floor, the knife being knocked from his grasp. His still healing bruises brushed harshly against the unforgiving asphalt. The man above him flipped him over, his fists connecting perfectly with Sam's face and chest. Sam tried to shield himself, his arms held protectively in front of his face, but it was no use.

"Stop," Roy ordered, now dawning a long red scratch across his right cheek. The man instantly stopped, his fist hanging loosely in mid-air. Instead, he got off the limp boy currently gasping for breath and knelt above the boy's head. He took Sam's arms into a tight and unrelenting grip, held high above Sam's head, acting as good as any pair of handcuffs.

Roy, though furious because of his own temporarily tarnished beauty, couldn't help but admire Sam's feeble attempts to escape, though entirely futile. Even more he couldn't help to admire, though, was how fucking sexy Sam looked. Sweat dribbled lightly down his face, his body stretched long, arms held uselessly above his head. He looked so vulnerable. Roy smirked in lust.

He was in control now.

Sam kicked out with his legs aimlessly, hoping to connect with something, anything. Two strong hands were grabbing onto each leg now, and suddenly he found himself completely subdued. There were two men at his feet and another restraining his hands. Where was the other?

Sam cried out, his arms and legs flailing out in hopes that one of them would make a mistake. Was this it? He was a _Winchester_, damn it, this couldn't happen to him.

But, Sam blatantly realized, it could. He was always the weakest, never really a true Winchester when it came to strength or courage. He was just a regular guy trying to be Superman. Of course it could happen to him.

Roy knelt beside Sam, not even attempting discretion as he carefully eyed every ounce of his body, soaking in the heat and pure beauty of Sam's perfection. His hand reached for the hem of Sam's shirt, and Sam stilled, his eyes wide.

"Please stop."

Roy looked into the boy's terrified eyes and smiled. "Now Sammy, why would I do that? You're much too beautiful to resist." He leaned in close, his eyes wandering over his perfect, plump, _begging _lips before looking once more into Sam's hazel-green eyes. "Do you realize how long I've waited for this? How long I've searched for someone like you?" He stroked Sam's smooth, unblemished face, playing with the light freckles scattered across his cheeks. "So beautiful...". He rolled his finger down to the boy's lips, tracing them in awe before leaning forward, eyes closing.

Sam thrashed again, his head butting violently into Roy's. Roy gasped, slapping Sam violently in the face. "You'll wish you hadn't have done that, boy," he said angrily. That hadn't stopped him, not one bit, and Sam almost regretted doing it. _Almost_. Roy grabbed his chin and pressed their lips together mercilessly. Roy forced his tongue in as it roamed around aimlessly against Sam's will, nearly sweltering in the heat of Sam's mouth. He tried pushing Roy off again but the man was more than ready this time, one hand pressing into Sam's cheek, keeping it glued to the asphalt.

Roy removed his tongue from the boy's mouth as he trailed his hands over his toned stomach. Once again grabbing for the hem of Sam's shirt, he lifted it and, grabbing the knife Sam had dropped, cut into it vertically. Soon, the shirt was being discarded and Roy could marvel in the utter masterpiece that was Sam. He felt himself nearly drooling at the boy's stupendous body, the muscles rolling underneath thin skin. Two bruises were crossing horizontally across Sam's abs, and Roy traced them lightly. "I did this?", he asked with an odd, twitching smile. This was his mark, his mark that signified Sam was _his_, his and no one else's. He kissed the two bruises lightly, and he felt Sam constantly bucking underneath him in an effort to get away.

"Now, Sammy, I don't want you getting too tired. We haven't even started yet," Roy said, his smile widening at Sam's panicked reaction, the realization still bright in his eyes.

"You're disgusting."

Roy feigned a hurt expression, looking insulted. "Don't say that, Sammy, all I want to do is love you."

As if on cue, Roy reached his hand out expectantly to the remaining bodyguard, instantly given a small syringe, the liquid a darker color in the poor lighting. Sam watched the exchange with wide eyes, fighting against his restraints all the more. Roy smiled ferally. "I have some rather unfortunate news to relay, baby boy. While I do trust my colleagues to keep you quite capably confined, I'm afraid I'm going to be slipping something into that beautiful body of yours to make sure it stays that way." Roy shrugged, nonchalant, and added with a smile, "I guess I prefer being in complete control of my...love life."

Roy brought the syringe to the crook of Sam's elbow and pushed it in hard. The drug entered Sam's system, and all the men watched as Sam's fighting slowed, what little movement he was capable of before now reduced and sluggish. Soon he was just laying flat on the ground, impeded almost completely of movement. The men had all made sure anyone under the influence of the drug could still see and change directions in eyesight. Roy had emphasized that he wanted his victims to be able to see what was happening to them.

Roy smiled wickedly, Sam's unfocused eyes watching Roy's every movement. "_Now _we can begin." Roy bent over the beautiful boy and nipped at his neck, his teeth lightly biting into smooth skin. He worked his way down Sam's body, his tongue tracing over his chest. Sam didn't even flinch, wasn't able to, and Roy was filled with glee at the mere thought of his complete and utter control. He could do this _all_ night and still Sam would be unable to defend himself, his body used and loved on for hours without the slightest intermission. Maybe he'd allow the others to have a piece of Sammy too, after he was done.

And who says he'd ever be done?

Roy continued his ministrations, licking and biting at Sam's chest before rolling his tongue further down Sam's toned stomach, dipping briefly into his navel. He groaned, the bulge between his legs almost impossible to ignore. Still licking, he brought his hand up to the waistband of Sam's jeans and snapped the button undone, sliding the zipper down. He couldn't resist but place his hand on the boy's crotch, stroking it sensually through the denim. Roy nearly gasped, his mind still not fully wrapped around how _gorgeous_ this boy was.

He looked up to see the boy's expression. A tear had escaped his eye, rolling down his cheek before hitting the cold ground. His eyes were looking to the right of Roy, almost accepting of his fate, and Roy looked behind him in realization.

He smiled, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. "Aw, so you found Joshua? Yeah, we wanted to make sure this memory stayed locked in our mind for good." Joshua chuckled behind him, the video camera held in both hands to keep it steady.

"Touch his cock again, that was really fucking hot."

Roy smiled, bending down to peck his lips onto Sam's crotch, his hand crawling under Sam's ass and squeezing tightly.

Sam closed his eyes as tightly as the drug in his system would allow, another tear gliding down his cheek. He shut his mind off, begging for reprieve from this nightmare.

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**Is Sam going to be saved in time? Man, ****I feel extremely dirty right now. I hope you all understand the underlining message in all this, because that was hard to write and I don't think I can get much more descriptive than that. I was actually not planning on making it so graphic, not at all, but it somehow just kind of happened. Poor Sammy, look what I did to him.  
So I'm thinking one more chapter, no more than two..probably. I'm such a pushover, so probably whatever y'all say goes. I'm not quite sure how to end this. Do y'all actually want Sam getting raped? I've gotten both sides in the reviews and messages in respect to this topic, but I'm thinking Dean and John should save him in time. I want him to be able to get on the mend quickly, you know? I hate hurting poor Sammy, so unless I get an overwhelming amount, I'll probably save the little guy.**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Gah! I have to again apologize for the tardiness of my update. I swear, I get distracted way too easily. It's pretty ridiculous.**

**Also, once again there seem to be mixed reviews. Unfortunately for some, because the slight, informal-like poll was so evenly matched, I'm going to go with the one I would prefer writing about. I tried to have it as satisfactory as possible for both sides, but it won't be as graphic as some may like! Despite this, though, there's still lots and lots of Limp!Sam and, hey? That's _always _awesome! :D**

**Hope this chapter is still enjoyable for you all!**

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Dean drove violently through the dark streets, John in the passenger seat, exasperated.

"Come on, Dean, your brother's fine. You know how he is."

Dean shot a fiery gaze John's way before turning back to the road. They had waited at the house for nearly _two hours _before deciding enough was enough, and only because John thought that Sam was just being controversial and snotty. _Damn him for making me wait this long. _What if something happened to his baby brother?

Dean's teeth clenched, his hands tightening on the wheel, the trees outside whizzing passed in a blur. Nothing would happen to Sammy, he'd make sure of it.

They continued speeding down the deserted roads, heading down the road Sam would probably take to get home from school.

And "probably" was the main issue.

Neither of the elder Winchesters had any strong assumption as to which path he'd take, and that worried Dean all the more. They could be driving further and further away from Sam and they wouldn't even know it.

A deserted alleyway was coming up to their right, and automatically Dean craned his neck to get a peak inside. At first, he merely thought the slumped body and surrounding figures were an illusion.

And then all he saw was red.

Not a second later, the Impala squealed to a stop and Dean was jumping out of the Impala, his feet pounding heavily onto the asphalt as the cool air drifted through his clothes, eyes dark with malice and destruction. He didn't notice how John whipped something small out of his pocket and firmly press it to his ear, all his sights were on his baby brother, prone and unmoving.

He was speeding around the beloved but forgotten car when the men looked behind them. The man that had been pressed up against Sammy, _his_ Sammy, took a defensive position, grabbing Sam around the neck and pulling him in front of his own body protectively, Sam's head rolling onto the man's shoulder. He then brought a knife up to Sam's slender and exposed neck, his mouth on the boy's other side beginning to caress the smooth skin.

"Don't go any further, boy," the man said with a wicked smile, his tongue flashing out at Sam's neck. Dean growled, but did as he was told. John appeared beside him, hands up in a reassuring manner. Four other men were all standing beside Sam and the man, one holding a video camera pointing in Sam's direction. Dean stared at the man, his hands clenching into tight fists, his nails dragging against his palms. The man, who appeared slightly familiar to Dean, seemed to notice his gaze, and looked almost frightened by his intense stare, taking a step back.

Dean looked back to the other man holding Sam, his hand curled tight around his brother's neck. "Look, please, just let him go," he pleaded, pushing his hands forward for emphasis. "You don't want to do this."

The dark-haired man holding Sam rose an eyebrow. "I _don't_ want to do this? Weird, because I have a damned persistent boner to prove otherwise."

Dean swallowed hard, noticing this was the exact same man that had been in the shoe store. He still sported the bruise Dean had gladly put on his hideous face, and it looked like Sam did a number on him as well with the large knife wound on his cheek as evidence, oozing blood. Dean felt grimly happy for it.

But it was a mere undercurrent in the raging emotions he was being swallowed by. He grit his teeth hard, feeling useless. There was no way he could save his brother with these four burly, bigass bulldozers in his way. What was he to do?

John stepped forward, purposely blocking Dean from view, keeping his hands up. "What do you want? Say the word and you can have it. Just give us the boy."

The man growled angrily in return. "I don't want anything _but_ the boy and, seeing as how I have the means, you won't be receiving Sam for a very, very long time". He pulled at Sam's hair, exposing Sam's sweat-glistened neck for emphasis before sucking on the sweet skin. A hand crept along Sam's inner thigh, rubbing at the soft flesh and carelessly dipping beneath the thin material of his boxers.

Dean hissed angrily, his eyes feeling suspiciously damp, and he looked away. Thankfully, Sam was still in boxers, which probably, _hopefully_ meant that he hadn't that been...that he wasn't...

A tear fell from Dean's eye.

Dean watched as Sam continued staring at the cold ground, his gaze glued to that one spot in shame. Why wasn't Sam moving? He just hung there, limp, like his body didn't belong to him anymore. Was he so ashamed?

Dean brushed the tear away angrily, even then making sure he did so slowly, so the men didn't think he was trying anything stupid. How could he protect his baby brother? He had a knife in his back pocket and a gun pressed lightly to the small of his back, like John, but how could they possibly obtain them without getting thirty bullets to the chest first?

Or Sam? What if they aimed at his baby brother instead?

The back of Dean's head, the small inkling of logic, was telling him they needed to create a distraction.

The man's demeanor turned back to light humor again, his mouth tinged with a smile as he played with Sam's long, beautiful hair, his fingers weaving through the locks effortlessly. He kissed Sam's hair, then moved back down to his neck, sucking on the skin before biting lightly. This boy belonged to him,_ him_, and there was no one that could stop him. Not even the boy's family.

His eyes had closed from the intense scrutiny he'd put into giving Sam the best hickey of his life, albeit unable to fully react to it, and opened them when an idea entered his head. He smiled, his eyes looking both from what he assumed was Sam's brother then his father.

"So, I think introductions are in order. You first," he indicated to the older one.

The tall man flinched, his eyes raging but calm features otherwise relating calm. "My name is John," he said attempting a calm demeanor then pointed shakily to the right, "and this is my son Dean."

"Hey!" the man yelled, suddenly angry, abruptly bringing his hand around and squeezing Sam's balls angrily. "Did I _say_ you could answer for him?"

The older man flinched, and Roy spoke again, suddenly calmer. "Now, let's try again. What is your name?"

He gulped, absently standing straighter. "My name is John Turner."

Roy looked to the other. "And you?"

"Dean Turner," the younger one said, and Roy could tell he was biting his lip from saying something else, the only result a strangled exhale.

Roy nodded, satisfied, and released his harsh grip on Sam. He cooed, "Aw, I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to hurt you." He lightly rubbed Sam's crotch as apology, his fingers dying to reach under the thin material of Sam's boxers.

But he had more than enough time for that later.

Sam did not react outwardly to Roy's touch, his head rolled back on the shoulder, his gaze staring into the cold ground.

Roy went back to petting Sam's hair, one arm wound possessively around his small waist. "Mmm, he's beautiful, isn't he?" He closed his eyes and took a whiff. "Delicious." He looked to the two Turners in front of him. His hand flicked in their direction. "Search them for weapons." Automatically, two of his own, much larger men went and frisked them, retrieving a small knife and gun from both. The brother and father were none too happy. Roy smiled. "And now that that's been done, I think we should play a little game."

Both the men's eyes narrowed into small slits, rage palpably emanating from them in huge waves. The father spoke. "What game?"

Roy smiled widely. "What, you don't know? We're going to play the 'Who Gets to Fuck Sammy?' game. It's going to be _so_ much fun." The two men looked completely disgusted. "Oh, come on, incest isn't illegal in _all _states...I think. Now come closer, don't be a party-pooper." He waved his hand forward excitedly, and two of his own men, Vick and Simpson, ushered the men violently forward.

"Sit," Vick said harshly.

Both sat, each only a few feet from their beloved Sammy. Their eyes were locked on the boy's face, and from Roy's view he couldn't tell if Sammy was making eye-contact with them or not.

Roy readjusted Sam in his lap until his ass was on the ground between Roy's legs, his head resting lightly against the larger man's chest. Roy then began playing the boy's hair, silky strands twirling around his finger.

"So Dean-your name is Dean, correct?" After a terse nod, Roy continued. "Do you love your brother?" He watched the man's hands turn to tight fists, his nails no doubt leaving crescent marks against his palms. Roy's eyebrow raised. "Is that a 'no'"?

Dean growled. "Of course I love my brought, you shit."

Roy smiled at his words. "How much do you love him?"

"What?"

Roy shrugged, Sam's hand held in his own, now admiring Sam's pretty, thin fingers. He kissed each one before placing them on Sam's nude leg. "Well, would you die for him, kill for him? Would you trade spots with your brother right now to save him?"

Dean jumped to his knees in an instant, swiftly covering the little distance between him and Roy. "Yes, yes, please-".

Roy shoved Dean violently onto his ass, backing him away from him and his baby. "Stay the fuck away from my boy. It was a _hypothetical_ question, damn it. There is no one I want more than this boy."

He watched the man John twitch furiously, his entire body jolting with what was probably wrath. _He's displeased that I said he was _my_ boy_, Roy thought, _I guess I have a few lessons that need to be taught. _Roy couldn't help another smile that escaped. The older man's eyes were suspiciously damp, and he thought he heard a choked sob come from Dean, who had failed to sit back up yet. The young man put his hands on his face and cowered in them. "Please, _please_."

Roy shook his head adamantly. "No, he's _mine_."

Dean sat up quickly, eyes red. "No, he's _not._"

Vick came in and hit Dean fiercely across his cheek. Dean clenched his teeth against the blow, but did not retaliate or argue further.

Roy smiled, once again happy and jovial. "Good boy. Now, we need to get back to my game, who knows how much longer the effects will last."

Both Dean and John looked to Roy, their mouths working on empty words in question to his statement. John licked his lips. "Effects? What...what are you talking about?"

Roy smiled, his eyebrow raising. "What, you think my beautiful Sammy is _always _like this?" he asked, indicating his prone, almost comatose state. "I needed to give him a little something to calm him down a bit, didn't want him getting too agitated."

The Turners' mouths fell open, "How fucking _dare_ you" and "_Excuse_ me?" spoken simultaneously.

Roy's eyes squinted. "And I will do the same to you if you don't behave." He looked to both Dean then John before lightening up a bit, his hands rubbing together readily. "So alright, back to what I was saying. Here's how we'll play the game. First of all, you two," he pointed to the two, "will do exactly as you're told, and nothing less." He waited until they both nodded, albeit reluctantly, before raising a hand out. "Joshua, be a doll and get me my box of fun things." He smiled. "I'm _so_ excited."

Joshua, who was still conducting the video recorder, reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small, rusty cardboard box, placing it at Roy's feet.

"You're going to be recording this, correct?"

Joshua smirked deviously, "Don't worry, Roy, I ain't missing a damn thing."

Roy produced a smile of his own before putting the box between the Turners and himself. "Alright, boys, this is how this game is going to work." Removing the lid he revealed a multiple of miniature pieces of paper, each with blotches of ink etched into them. "One at a time, you will each take a note from the box and whatever is scribbled on it must be performed on little Sammy here. Sounds like fun, right?"

He watched as both Dean and John looked to each other in desperation, anger, and utter hopelessness. It appeared as though John was trying to convey a message to Dean, an important one but, seeing as how they weren't given permission to speak, it was just a damn fucking shame.

However, they weren't really given permission to cry and slobber over this either but, Roy supposed, it would be alright for now.

Roy smiled, looking over Sam's shoulder to get a good look at his face, kissing him hard on the lips. "Vick, can you take my place for the remainder of our marvelous time with the Turner family? I would very much like a good view of this." He placed the boy into Vick's strong arms, Vick cross-legged on the cold ground with Sam's legs laid out in front of him.

"Alright John, don't be shy, take a paper from the box."

John looked to him, then the box, unsure what'd he'd find inside each little note. He picked one up, unfolding it slowly. Once read, he gasped audibly, his hand going over his mouth to soften the crying wail he released.

Roy watched impatiently. "Well, you old fart, what's it say?"

John's mouth quivered, and Dean watched, destroyed. "I..I..." He sobbed hard, and Dean jerked the note angrily out of his father's limp hand and read it, each word making him flinch in horror. "You think either of us would _ever _do this to Sam, you sickass pervert?" he shrieked at Roy. "All your words about your damn total devotion to my brother doesn't mean horseshit if this is how you want him treated. You don't love him, never have." He was greeted by a very angry Roy, his face at the receiving end of a very mighty fist.

"How goddamn fucking _dare_ you," Roy seethed out from between his teeth. He hit at Dean again, letting out his furious wrath. He hissed, liking how Dean cowered. "I_ love _my boy, you hear me? You_ hear_ me? Just because your dumbass of a self doesn't understand true love doesn't mean you are given the right to tear down others."

"Like fucking hell-." Roy punched him again before finally settling back into his spot. He took deep breaths.

"Now, John, what does your card say?" Roy eyed one his men with a firm gaze, and the man brought up his gun and aimed in the direction of the Turners.

John whimpered. "I-I must pleasure my boy-."

"_No! _You must pleasure _the _boy. What are you, a damn idiot? He doesn't fuckin' belong to you." Roy stated angrily. He easily shrugged it off. "Now go on."

"I must pleasure...the boy by..uhh," John sniffed and Dean looked at him dejectedly, sporting a few upcoming bruises. "Thrusting something up his...". John shook violently, weeping.

Roy rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be a baby. You haven't even fuckin' started."

John clenched his fists violently and made to stand up before being hit with the butt of one of the men's guns. He looked to Roy, a furious glint in his eye. "You're sick."

Roy shook his head. "No, you're just weird. Look how pretty that boy is," he said, pointing his hand in Sammy's direction. "People would pay hundreds just to have him for one night. Besides, it never said you had to use your _penis. _I'm sure we could find some sort of pipe or something." Roy shrugged indifferently. "If you don't feel expert enough I'd be more than willing to show you the basics, maybe get you started?

John growled, tears falling heedlessly down his face. "You will not _touch_ my boy."

Roy stood, his gaze stuck on the father as he slowly circled around him. "There you go again with calling my boy _yours_." Roy's upper lip curled. "Who the hell gave you the right?" he asked through squinted eyes.

"_Excuse_ me? Are you fucking joking?" exclaimed Dean from Roy's left, sitting up to stare at him maliciously. "Sam belongs with us, we're his_ family_. You think he likes what you're doing to him? How the _hell _could he love you for kidnapping, hurting, and molesting him, huh? You think he enjoys that?"

Roy felt more than saw his fist connect with the young man's face, his knuckles pounding into his cheek before gliding off his ear to send him crashing back to the floor, blood flowing freely from his mouth. He knelt by Dean's face, his eyes never leaving the man's. "I would _never_ hurt my boy. It's people like you I don't want my little Sammy around." Roy smiled, for the first time humorless. "I guess it's a good thing I'm getting rid of you soon, then."

Roy looked back to the man's father, who was now being restrained by both Vick and the other guard he couldn't recall the name of. Roy immediately looked to Sammy, who was previously being held by Vick, and ran to him when he saw him laying dejected on the ground.

"Aw damn, I'm sorry, baby." He knelt and picked Sam's torso off the ground to settle in his arms. He thought he caught a glimpse of something red, and turned the boy's head in horror to see a shallow gash running along his temple. He snarled, looking to Vick angrily.

Vick held his hands up defensively, the other guard now sitting on John's back. "I'm sorry, sir, we had to confine the father, so he wouldn't interrupt you," he said, his excuse hopefully persuasive enough.

Roy stood immediately, setting Sam down carefully before striding toward Vick in long, purposeful steps. He cuffed the man hard on the cheek, adrenaline making the hit much harder than anticipated. "I don't care if you're trying to stop the fuckin' apocalypse, I don't _ever_ want you hurting my boy, do you understand me."

Vick nodded quickly, stepping back slightly.

Roy sighed before looking to Joshua, who was holding the camera in Sam's prone position. "I wanna get this on tape so I can finally have fun with my boy. I've waited too damn long."

Joshua nodded, snickering. "You got it boss. We'll have the father have his fun with the kid then we'll finish the two off. They won't be needed any longer anyway."

Roy agreed, turning back to get Sam.

A gunshot rang loud through the air and Roy spun around to watch the nameless guard fall heavily off John's back and to the ground, blood spurting abundantly out of his back. Another gunshot reverberated through the air and Simpson dropped beside him, his left eye out of its socket as blood oozed down his cheeks, as if crying blood. Not two seconds later, Vick fell to his knees, his right leg tinged bright red. Another shot and it was his throat, too.

Roy looked to the entrance of the alleyway and saw an older, bearded man, an AK-47 held expertly in his grip. Roy hissed in anger, his hand reaching for the gun at his waistband. Apparently he hadn't been fast enough, because not even a second later he was gasping for breath and clenching his hand tightly, blood dripping annoyingly between his fingers and falling to the ground. He growled, looking again toward the old man and seeing him edging forward.

Both the older son and father got up from their positions, heading for cover behind the older man. Roy's teeth clenched in fury, his hand still holding onto the other. "What, you think you can take my boy? After all the fuckin' work I put into finding him and you can just take him?" Roy shook his head slowly. "No, no, I will keep what belongs to me. You can't have him, _fuckers_."

A loud bang went off and whizzed passed Roy's ear, hissing through the air and hitting flesh behind him. He turned to see Joshua clenching his shoulder, his grasp on both the camera and a gun gone as they crashed forgotten to the floor.

Roy turned back to watch the three men, regrouped after the two Turners acquired weapons of their own, each pointed in either his or Joshua's direction.

Roy backed up slowly until he was standing evenly with Joshua. He removed his hand from the other bloody one, holding both in front of him innocently. "Look, I realize you're unhappy, so I'm willing to compromise. Maybe I could just have him on weekends or-".

Another bullet soared through the air, and, having expected it, Roy purposely grabbed Joshua's arm and threw him into the bullet's path. Roy watched his friend of twenty years fall, his body sagging to the floor, dead.

Before Roy could fully recover, agony tore through his left knee, his body falling lopsided onto the cold ground. He managed to stay kneeling in place, barely, one knee supporting all his weight. He hissed through the pain, his eyes switching from both the Turners and the old man. "Alright, I'm okay with just Fridays. Honestly, I can negotiate the terms, just talk to me."

Another shot and Roy was sent flying onto his back, his shoulder burning in indescribable pain. He hissed, his vision blurring around the edges. A bang echoed through the alley and Roy screamed as a bullet got lodged in his other hand, both now massacred. He groaned loudly, moans escaping his lips before he could hold them back. Two figures were looming menacingly over him, their faces hazy with adrenaline and fright. Roy gulped, his hands beginning to shake as fear coursed violently through his veins. For the first time in his life, he wondered if he was going to die.

One of the men, seemingly shorter than the other, though he couldn't tell for sure, raised his hand up, a dark, familiar object held in his hand. Roy squinted to see better, but his mind disallowed it as it continued to make known the numerous injuries he carried. His vision grew darker, darker, and soon all he could do was hear what he couldn't see. There were voices, menacing, angry voices talking to him, shouting at him. He just continued to lay there, blind and unknowing and, as his last few moments began to leave him, he wondered if his boy had been worth all his efforts, wondered if his boy had been worth his untimely death.

He was.

**SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN**

**Well there you go, hope you enjoyed. I predict there will be one more chapter, but who knows? Once again, sorry for the late update. If I do another fanfic I'll be sure to have several chapters written before ever putting it up so updates won't be so unpredictable.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello again! So sorry for the late update so thanks for sticking with me this long. So I'm not sure if I want to leave y'all there or if I want to add ONE more chapter, possibly create a better, less forced conclusion. Maybe once you've finished the chapter you could let me know. ;)**

**Enjoy!**

**\/\/\/\/\/\**

Dean dropped his gun, hearing the merciless, banging crash as it thudded harshly to the ground. It was loud, too loud, and he almost feared his eardrums would burst from the produced noise. It hurt, more than he thought it was supposed to. It was just a small piece of metal, wasn't it? Nothing overwhelmingly huge or heavy by any means, just a gun. Just a small gun, a few chunks of steel made together to create something lethal, something that could so easily end a life.

But…he didn't really care, did he? Not anymore.

He walked slowly in Sam's direction, his thoughts twisted and muddled and just generally _fucked up_. He didn't hear any movement behind him, and he absently wondered if he was the only one that wasn't in some sort of comatose state, trapped in their mind and dying in it.

But he was dying, too, wasn't he? How could he feel so much pain yet not be even close to the end? He'd served his time well, didn't he? Maybe he did deserve a reprieve from the real world, maybe at last he could escape to that feeling of immense joy and eternal contentment people liked to think the afterlife was all about.

But then he'd end up leaving Sammy, wouldn't he? No, no, he couldn't allow that. Sam was his life, a life worth hurting and killing and dying for, a life he'd never trade for the entirety of the world and it's existence.

He scooped Sam up gingerly into his arms, as if a small, fragile porcelain doll that could crack and break with the slightest ease. He felt a small comfort as he watched Sam's chest move up then down in a rhythmic pattern. He looked further up and his stomach dropped as he looked into Sam's dull and glazed eyes, not even the slightest flicker of recognition as they stared up into the dark, endless sky above them, as if he'd shut himself off at will and didn't have enough reason to turn back on.

Dean crushed Sam's body closer to his chest, ignoring the fear he felt for his baby brother, and slowly turned, trudging back to the Impala. He ignored the multitude of bodies on the floor, and the blood gushing out of each, just wanting to get _away_.

He looked up from his baby brother's face to see his father stationed readily but wearily at the driver's seat of the sleek car, parked parallel in front of Bobby and his old pickup truck.

Wordlessly, Dean got into the backseat of the Impala, his back against the car window as he positioned Sam to lay his head limply against his chest. Dean's legs wrapped around Sam's, acting as a strong, impregnable cocoon of protection. He hugged Sam tightly to his chest as he muttered useless apologies and broken promises on how he was going to make everything okay.

He never stopped talking until they reached the motel.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Dean continued staring at Sam's prone body for hours, so long he didn't even know what time of day it was. Hell, he didn't know_ anything_, nothing except that his brother was on the small bed in front of him, his eyes blinking without thought and without emotion, in who knew what kind of torturous, isolated prison. Sam had been in exactly the same position ever since Dean placed him gently onto the bed, and Dean had been in exactly the same position since he'd sat in the chair beside him.

Dean twitched relentlessly and sighed, his own body reacting to Sam's motionless one. How could he let this happen?

A hand was placed hesitantly on his shoulder, and he knew without looking back it was John. Bobby had left...at some point with the excuse that he had things to do. What those things were, like getting rid of the bodies, was gratefully unspoken, almost allowing Dean to act like none of this had ever happened, that nobody hurt his brother possibly beyond repair and that he was merely sleeping peacefully beside him.

With his eyes open.

Dean choked back a sob, his head in his hands. His self-recrimination was at its best, or maybe its worst, and he wondered absently if his baby brother would ever smile that beautiful, blindingly innocent smile again. Would he ever hear that sweet laugh again? Would he ever see the blood rise to his cheeks when Dean blatantly points out a pretty girl is staring at him?

It was almost daunting, how Dean's entire life revolved around the boy in front of him, yet he couldn't do anything to help him. Whatever those sick bastards had used on Sammy, it had done its job. Every part of his body but the eyes were stiff and unmoving, and it unnerved Dean to think what might be running through Sam's head. Surely there were no injuries or hindrances to detach Sam from his own thoughts, so who knew? Was he blaming Dean like Dean was, or was he too nice and only blamed himself? Dean sniffed, his eyes drifting over Sam's body.

The soft clasp on his shoulder was still there, and he wondered if John expected some sort of response from him. He didn't get one, and eventually the hand went away. John went from behind him and floated in his peripheral, sighing half-heartedly as he moved to sit at the wooden table in the corner of the small room.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Another hour later and a knock on the motel door resounded through the room, breaking Dean momentarily out of his thoughts. The muffled footsteps behind him in response told Dean John would handle it. Dean reached for the gun at the small of his back as John did the same, shuffling unsurely to the door. Dean cocked his gun, the only thing worth protecting in the bed beside him.

And he would protect him until he died.

John warily peeked through the small hole in the door, his eyes at once filling with recognition. Dean immediately tucked the gun back in its place, knowingly as John unlocked the rusted, nearly unhinged door, a mournful Bobby appearing on the doorstep.

Dean stood to greet Bobby as he entered, the older man pulling John into a bear hug before doing the same to Dean. Bobby looked older than usual, gray overcoming the previous black hair and not a couple of wrinkles replacing the once unblemished skin. His eyes drooped lower as he caught sight of the youngest Winchester lying vulnerable on the moldy bed.

Dean watched as Bobby sighed heavily, taking off his hat to scratch absently at his growing bald patch on top of his head. "Goddamn," he mumbled, his eyes closing in frustration and undeniable anger. The man then opened them again to turn his gaze to Sam again. An indefinable expression crossed Bobby's face, and Dean wondered what he was thinking about. Was he seeing the dark bruise on Sam's face, the others littered across Sam's arms? Was he wondering how many other injuries were hidden beneath the fresh shirt they had put on Sam, the other soiled and bloody? Had he failed to notice Sam's prone, unmoving state on the bed? Did he recognize the drugs at work? Or was he intimidated by the eyes? Dean turned to Sam, his brother's eyes blinking slow and infrequent. As if he wasn't aware of anything around him.

Bobby sighed heavily, and Dean turned around to see Bobby put his cap back on and sit at the small table, his body physically turned away from the twin beds. He admired the small painting on the wall beside him, and Dean recognized the older man's physical effort _not_ to look at Sam, the effort to forget the broken boy behind him to clear his mind to focus on the problem at hand, how to _fix_ this.

Bobby heaved another sigh, his eyes now focused on the two elder Winchesters. He looked uncertain, like he wasn't sure how the two would react. "Okay, ya idjits," started, his eyes shifting from one to the other, "I dunno what you two are gonna want to do with this, but," Bobby sighed, "here it is anyway." He put his hand in a sack bag Dean hadn't noticed upon his arrival, fished it out a second later to produce a black, sleek camera.

A camera Dean was much too familiar with.

Dean's eyes glinted something murderous, and Bobby immediately picked up on it. "I know what you're thinkin' boy, but listen. Maybe if we knew what Sam dealt with we can figure out how to_ help_ him."

Without a word, Dean strode across the room and snatched the camera away from the unsuspecting Bobby, instantly throwing it to the ground and crushing it with the heel of his boot. "Dad and I were there for enough of it," Dean said with a hiss, emphasizing his words with another slam onto the camera, his eyes pricking tears. He was such a coward. He _did _this to his baby brother, didn't protect him, yet he doesn't want to see exactly what his naïveté caused. He didn't want to see what else happened to his baby brother, didn't want to watch the cruel, invasive things Sam had been the leading participator in while Dean and his father sat unknowingly in the motel.

John sighed heavily, sitting beside Bobby. "He's right, Bobby. I realize you came in late in the game but…we saw enough, Bobby, we really did." John sat almost lifelessly, an animated corpse with little more capabilities than a buried one. He kept his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, mourning. Dean turned away from the sight, hoping to allow his father the dignity Sam forcefully lost.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Three hours later and Dean was scooting his rickety chair up even closer, the legs of the chair jarringly loud in the otherwise silent room. He snickered to himself bitterly, knowing that, if Sammy was actually _here_, he'd be spouting out complaints about his great need of personal space and creating an argument that granted him that right. But his Sammy wasn't here, not really, and there were no disapproving responses of Dean's closer proximity to prove him wrong.

He swallowed audibly, the need to just touch Sam again, make sure he was still _real_, becoming overwhelming. Hesitantly, very hesitantly, he raised a shaking hand until it just barely grazed over Sam's cheek, the soft skin beneath his hand cold and unmoving. His fingers stretched out to wander into Sam's long locks and tucked some of it behind his ear. A dark flash of black and blue appeared on Sam's neck and Dean's eyebrows scrunched in suspicion. He pushed more of the thick hair back and his eyes darkened menacingly at the prominent bruise, _hickey_, on his neck. With teeth grit and hands clenched tight, the right hand holding Sam's hair carefully as it squeezed, tears ran unheeded down Dean's face.

A hand, stronger and surer than before, landed on his shoulder and he looked back to see John looking down at him with bright tears in his eyes. One escaped, trailing lightly down his father's cheek. His gaze flashed with the barest of seconds at his youngest's neck, cringing before looking back at his eldest with pain in his eyes.

"This isn't your fault, son."

Dean immediately stood, the legs of the chair squeaking violently at his abruptness and only John's lucky placement behind the chair kept it from tumbling over in explosions of decayed wood.

Dean fisted his hands in his hair, the pain not registering as he pulled violently at the roots. "Dad, that's just it, it _is_ my fault. Hell, I might as well have just done..." He paused, "Done all those _things_ those perverts did to my brother." He deflated with a sigh, more tears springing up and spilling over his lower lids. He choked on a barely suppressed sob, his eyes tight with the raw, nearly physical pain dwelling inside his chest. "God_damn_ it." He sniffled, his eyes looking to Sam's uncaring ones, the eyes still blinking emotionlessly up at the ceiling, as they had been for the past six hours. If his little Sammy was in there, neither of the elder Winchesters could tell it.

"Dean, there's no way you can blame yourself for this. You helped Sam the best you could in understanding the dangers of men like those in the alley. It wasn't your fault or Sam's that he got hurt." John lowered his head, tears continuing to fall. "If it was anyone's fault it was mine. I put you two into more dangerous situations than I can count." John shook his head weakly in self-hatred, lacking the inveterate arrogance he had always held himself with.

Dean sat again, this time in the far corner of the room, keeping his gaze on the cold floor, its burnished quality gone and long deceased decades ago. "No, Dad, this isn't your fault, none of it is." He continued staring deeply into the floor, as if it contained the answers to the questions he didn't know nor knew how to deal with. With one hand lightly at his hip the palm of the other rubbed roughly at his forehead in absent consideration. With his back hunched, he said absently, "I can just think of how scared he was, all those men. I mean they were fuckin' three times his size," he exclaimed, throwing his hands out to create the parody of a rotund man for emphasis.

Dean looked back to his brother, expecting the lax and limp body that had become so ingrained into his memory it hurt. His breath nearly caught in his throat as he watched Sam laying on the bed, admiring his raised hand. It was held high above his head and he stared at it with a dull interest, flexing and experimenting with it, as if a new limb.

_He's not used to his body obeying the demands of his mind_, Dean thought in horror. His mouth curled in anguish and repulsion as he continued to watch his poor Sammy blink disinterestedly at the moving limb, as if he didn't know what to do with it now that he had it.

Dean was by Sam's side in an instant, John soon following, and both watched intently as Sam continued his administrations blissfully.

Dean said softly, "Hey, Sammy, long time no see, kiddo. How are you feelin'?" Dean watched hopefully as he mentally berated himself. _Stupid! How do you _think_ he feels? He was almost raped, damn it. _Dean squeezed his eyes shut frightfully, realizing just how close he'd come to losing his brother, but then the hand was back on his shoulder, careful and loving. Dean opened his eyes as Sam finally acknowledged them, his head turning slightly in their direction. Sam dropped his hand carelessly, letting it flop by his side. Dean's stomach clenched as he looked into Sam's glazy, unfeeling eyes.

"Sam…," Dean started, but cut himself off. What was he supposed to say? How could he possibly make this right when he so royally fucked up?

_How can Sam ever trust me again after this?_

After giving the two elder Winchesters another indifferent glance, Sam shifted on the bed, inching himself forward with the intention of sitting up. Dean immediately complied, placing both arms under his baby brother's readily.

"Don't touch me," Sam hissed, swatting his groping hands away immediately at contact. The swatting hand had moved slowly, though, slower than Sam's usual fast and instinctive retaliation, and Dean realized Sam wasn't used to controlling his own body yet, like it was alien to him. Even as Sam raised his torso off the bed, Dean could tell by Sam's unsure, nearly perplexed expression that it felt awkward to be the initiator of the movement.

Somewhere deep in Dean's heart he was eternally, endlessly weeping, begging for release, to be set free from the pain and agony he had been left witness to. Another tear fell from Dean's eye, and he couldn't help but wonder how scarred this would leave his family, how damaged.

Despite the small aches Sam must have had from…recuperating on the hard, lumpy bed, he seemed to get up with relative ease, only the _smallest_ of hisses escaping Sam's mouth as he achieved the vertical position. Dean's eyebrows scrunched, turning his gaze back on Sam's apathetic expression. Lying drugged on the bed for numerous hours and he gets up as easy as if he had taken a small nap? No, no..

Maybe Sam hadn't been affected by the side effects for as long as they had thought.

And Dean's watergates unhinged.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

His heart cracked and Dean broke along with it, the thin shield of emotion he kept as protection shattering as he sobbed hard into his jacket sleeve, the gaping black hole deep and irreparable. The hand on his shoulder squeezed hard and tight as the realization came to the man behind him as well. Sam hadn't cared to tell them he was already awake, but why? Did he not know they were there, or did he just not want to deal with them? There was no way they could fix this, not entirely. Could Dean live with himself if he couldn't ever fully heal his broken brother, that all the torment and pain he allowed to be conflicted on his brother will never cease to haunt Sam's memories for the rest of his life?

Dean watched drearily as the form of his baby brother grew steadily blurrier and hazier until there was no longer a defined body, just a mass of limbs and flesh color. The tears filling his eyes and rolling down his cheeks felt like granite, thick and unbearably heavy.

He blinked hard to clear his vision some, thankfully helping just enough to see Sam as he was looking back at his hand, the limb lying stiffly on his thigh as he flexed it again, clenched then unclenched, clenched then unclenched. He inspected it further as he moved just the fingers, wiggling them around and side-to-side.

Dean heard poorly veiled sobs behind him, the hand no longer on his shoulder. Dean sniffled. So it wasn't just him that was affected.

Dean physically brought himself out of his stupor, his hand reaching out silently and hesitantly toward Sam. The kid's head was still downcast, focused solely on his fingers, and maybe a reminder that the kid wasn't alone was a good idea. Maybe the first step of the healing process is finding the _reason _to heal. Dean leaned forward until his hand was just barely able to touch Sam's head. Lightly, so lightly, he carefully ruffled Sam's hair, playing with a few strands of the chocolate locks.

Sam whipped his head back to look to Dean, his ass scooting back violently away from the touch. "Don't touch me," he hissed, his eyes fierce and defensive.

Dean flinched, his hands put immediately at his sides. "Sammy, it's okay, you're safe now." He watched as Sam turned his body fully to Dean, prepared to fight for the freedom he finally regained.

But was that the reason? The dull, disinterested look in Sam's eyes when he had watched his new found movement told Dean he may not even _care_ anymore. Just another damn change he had to unwillingly adjust to.

"Come on, Sammy, it's me. Dean, your big bro," he said hesitantly.

What if Sam didn't remember him?

Dean blatantly ignored the question in his head, hating himself for even thinking it. Of _course _his Sammy would remember him.

Wouldn't he?

Dean watched as Sam's eyes darted from him, to Dad, to Bobby, searching their eyes for any signs of pretense or malicious intentions. After several agonizing moments, Dean holding his breath hopefully the entire time, Sam finally let his guard down, some, his shoulders sagging and eyes filling with recognition.

"So you saved me," Sam deduced, his eyes turning their gaze to the floor. His hair fell purposely in front of his eyes, shrouding his emotions from unnecessary and unwanted sympathy. Unwanted pity. "I appreciate it, I do," he started, suddenly looking up to gaze at all three men. "But don't treat me like some traumatized child that can't feed himself because he doesn't know what to do with the fork, that can't wipe his own ass because he doesn't remember how." Sam shook his head, his expression unreadable. "Treat me like you always treated Sam before." He watched the horrified gazes burning holes in him, nearly physically searing, and his voice unconsciously softened in harshness. "I realize this won't just be hard for me. You all...you all are hurting, and I'm so so sorry." Sam's eyes watered at the genuine apology, his words momentarily dying in his throat at the rawness he felt. "Please...treat this like any other injury. I'm sick, so now you have to make me better again."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Sam slept in the bed soundlessly, the occasional ruffling of bed sheets the only indication he was _sleeping._ Sleeping and not drugged.

Dean sighed, immediately realizing he had picked up the bad habit from their father. He sighed again merely out of spite for himself. Bobby and John had gone out to get dinner, or breakfast technically, a half hour ago and Sam had been sleeping for a little over that. Despite the reprieve Dean was _still _reeling from Sam's heartfelt words, his eyes watering up at even the slightest thought of his baby brother. He wiped at the moisture accumulating in his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time, sighing at his own emotional incompetence. What could he possibly do to help Sam get through this? Singing to him and giving him Tylenol won't do a damn, so what could he do?

Dean continued sitting in the wooden chair beside Sam's bed, a hand over his face in self-flagellation. What was he supposed to _do_? Is there some sort of technique or etiquette you were supposed to follow for sexually abused children? Before Dean knew it he was quietly sobbing into his hand, the other hanging limply in his lap as he doubled over in what felt like _physical _pain.

A hand fell softly onto his shoulder, and Dean's head sprung up, a few tears flaking off his cheeks as he went to look into Sam's deep, melancholy eyes, his brother's legs hanging loosely as he sat on the rumpled bed.

Dean's breath got stuck somewhere in his throat, hesitantly eyeing his brother. "Hey Sammy..", Sam flinched, and Dean stopped talking. He swallowed, his eyes burning as he recognized the necessary correction. "Sam," he said sadly. His mouth worked on the words he wanted to say, the words he should have said the moment Sam first woke up before. "Sam, I'm…I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have let you leave school alone." Dean fisted a hand hard in his eye out of spite for the tears he tried to will not to come. "I should have protected you, been there to save you from those…those damn perverts. And all because of me…" Dean gestures to Sam, "_this_ happens."

A spark of life came to Sam's eyes and he squinted questioningly at Dean, as if he was trying to solve the complex, intricate puzzle in his mind. A few seconds more and his hands clenched tightly in his lap, his head shaking. He shook his head. "Dean, how could you possibly blame yourself for this?"

Dean's mouth moved to say something, explain his faults in a way Sam would understand, but the kid was already in motion, heaving a grunt as he moved to stand. Before he could stop and think, Dean was there by his side, a strong hand on Sam's arm as leverage. Sam flinched involuntarily, and Dean immediately dropped his hand.

"I'm sorry—", Dean started.

"No." Sam shook his head as he stood. "No, don't, please." He looked to the side, avoiding eye-contact.

"Sammy, don't worry, it's okay. We understand. We'll take it in little steps, we can —".

"No," Sam said, stronger this time. He purposefully grabbed Dean's calloused hand and brought it up to his own cheek, making it rub against his skin. "Please, I _need_ you to touch me." At Dean's befuddled look, Sam continued, his voice tinged with a deep sadness Dean wasn't expecting. "If you don't touch me I'll never heal. I'll be scared of everyone, scared of what they might do to me. I need to understand being touched isn't always a bad thing." He looked down, away from Dean's heated gaze. "If I can't trust my own family not to..." He shook his head fervently, looking back at them determinedly, tears in his eyes. "Please, I want to get better."

Tears ran unheeded down Dean's face as he cried hard into his hand, the other hand moving from Sam's cheek and fisting itself on the back of Sam's shirt. He crushed Sam hard against his body, and he felt Sam visibly push down the impulsive flinch. He didn't let go though; no, he held onto his Sammy for all it was worth. Tears blurred his vision again, and Dean wondered if he'd ever be able to see again. He put his face in Sam's dark locks, a hand straying to play absently with a few strands.

Dean nodded hard into Sam's hair. "Yeah, I can do that, Sammy."

\/\/\/

**Alright, so there you go. Acceptable ending or another chapter? Hope it was worth the wait. By the way, speaking of disastrous, annoyingly stupid intervals between updates, my next fanfic will have several chapters already written before being posted, so as not to make it so difficult for me to keep up with everything. Just thought I'd let you know.  
I hope all have started off the new year well. Thanks to all that take the time to R&R!**


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